Elements of Happiness
by Natsuki
Summary: Kurotenshi Zen is plagued by memories of things that he can't clearly remember -- all centering around one particular group of people. (Manga universe)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne is Tanemura Arina's property. Not mine  
(though I really wouldn't object to having Chiaki or Access around the  
house...)  
  
For Tin, dearest oneechan.  
  
This story assumes that the reader knows Zen's backstory, from either the  
anime or the manga, and has some spoilers for the manga ending (as the  
anime certainly doesn't measure up).  
  
Minor note: 'ningenkai' is literally translatable as 'Human Realm' or  
'Human World'. 'Tenkai' is 'Sky World' or 'Heaven'.  
  
******************  
Elements of Happiness  
by Natsuki  
******************  
  
  
Another perfect day in Heaven, with only the occasional shadow of a  
high-flying angel to block the sun from the green grass and white buildings  
below. It was a perfect park, peaceful and calm, with nary a single blade  
of grass or twig from the trees out of place. The scuff-marks of Zen's  
sandals were instantly erased as he stalked across the broad expanse of  
Heaven, wings and arms held at stiff angles to his body.  
  
They'd been Watching the pool again, and that one woman. And they'd ordered  
him out again, as they always did whenever the conversation or Watching  
turned to that woman. Celcia and Toki had pulled one of their looks when  
they'd thought he wasn't watching, exchanging amused glances at the young  
angel's annoyance. There was something he knew about that woman, and it  
wasn't fair that he was excluded. He was an angel, even if he was only a  
kurotenshi.  
  
In passing one of the apple trees, he kicked its trunk in a moment's  
pique... and was rewarded by an apple dropped onto his head. "Damned tree,"  
he muttered, rubbing at the abused spot as he glared at the canopy of  
branches above him.  
  
"You shouldn't say such things, things." The tone was gently chiding,  
though amused. And, with that particular self-echo, it was an easy guess as  
to its owner.  
  
"I can say what I want, Celcia. Even if I am treated like a human child, I  
can still talk, can't I?" He hated to have to bow and scrape to the  
seitenshi; it was one of the few reasons he actually enjoyed Celcia's  
intermittent company, as she didn't insist on formality or, in truth, many  
manners at all. She simply liked to talk.  
  
She seemed to be considering this, amused. "Ah, I suppose you can, indeed,  
indeed. But if Riru-sama were to hear you, you would be tossed into double  
training for the next eon, you would," she replied, picking up the apple  
and offering it to him. "Since the tree gave you a gift, it shan't hurt to  
eat it, it. At least-" Here, her expression turned somewhat more  
contemplative, as though she were remembering a certain time past. "-that  
was what Access always said."  
  
Zen took the apple warily, polishing it on his chest and taking a bite with  
relish. Forbidden -- or simply frowned upon -- fruits were always tastier,  
for some reason. "The famous Access again. Why won't anyone talk about the  
guy? Really, it's almost as though he was a datenshi, the way people mince  
about the topic around me." He couldn't keep the sour note from his voice,  
nor the irritated petulance. He'd been told that he was so childish because  
he'd been young when he'd died, and that had simply served to irritate him  
further.  
  
Celcia looked faintly shocked, her eyes wide. "He wasn't a datenshi! There  
hasn't been a datenshi for so long... how can you say that?" She truly was  
shocked; one hand had flown up to her mouth, covering it so that the words  
came out muffled, and without her usual self-echo.  
  
Taking advantage of the chink in her armor, Zen pressed on. "Then who was  
he? No-one will tell me, and I certainly can't just go and ask God, 'Oh,  
hey, who was this Access guy and why won't anyone talk about him when I'm  
around? And, oh, by the way, I'm being treated like some child whenever  
someone's using the Pool to watch some woman.', now can I?"  
  
"I wish I could tell you, Zen, but my time here is short enough as it is,  
it is," Celcia said, shaking her head. "And it is a long story, and not a  
happy one in places. And you would not wish to hear much of it, of it."  
  
Frustration welled up in him, and he tossed the apple aside (it promptly  
vanished upon hitting the ground) before sitting down upon the ground,  
brows furrowed. "You've finally got enough power for what you want, then?"  
he asked, glancing up at her through a fall of hair. "You're going back to  
the ningenkai?"  
  
"To be human again, again. And-" She sighed, her expression becoming dreamy  
with remembrance. "-to see Maron again, again."  
  
There. That name.  
  
/A good name.../  
  
It trickled into his memory and lodged there, a whisper of his own voice  
coming out of the depths. "Maron?" he demanded suddenly, every muscle stiff  
with some unknown anticipation. "Who?"  
  
Celcia watched him for a moment, then shook her head. "It is nothing. You  
should forget it, Zen, Zen," she said, then left, her skirts swishing  
behind her. In her wake trailed faint trickles of memory, a vague sense of  
unease settling upon Zen's wings and drawing them downwards.  
  
"It is not for you to worry about, young Zen." Riru stepped out from behind  
the tree, as poised as ever. As though she hadn't been eavesdropping on the  
conversation. "You have training. Now go."  
  
***  
  
Time flowed differently here than in the ningenkai. In the span of only a  
short, unmeasured time, Celcia and Toki had gone, all traces of their power  
disappearing in one flash of light that had sent ripples over all of  
Heaven. It wasn't an unknown thing, by the way that the older angels were  
acting, but it was the first such occurence since he'd become a kurotenshi.  
  
"Riru-sama, why did God give up one of his powers?"  
  
They'd been studying the Garden of Eden, learning the story -- if they  
hadn't known it already -- of Creation and of Adam. Zen was bored,  
preferring to watch the clouds sail across the high blue sky rather than  
pay attention. The question, coming from one of the other kurotenshi,  
brought him thudding back to Earth -- or rather, Heaven.  
  
Riru nodded at the question, faint amusement in her voice as she answered,  
"For love. So that the soul of the first woman could live forever, as pure  
as the day that she was Created."  
  
"Why was it Eve, and not Adam, who God gave this power to?" Mika was one of  
the brighter angels, having a higher power level than most in the class as  
a result of constant studying and prayer and all the responsible activities  
that Zen usually tried to shirk.  
  
"That, Kurotenshi Mika, is a question you'll have to ask Him. As for  
Adam... well, you may eventually learn his story as well. You may go now."  
There was a definite chuckle behind her voice now, almost that evil teasing  
note that every angel under her tutelage came to dread.  
  
The class fled as quickly as possible, but Zen stayed under the pretense of  
straightening his robes. He watched Riru turn away, considering. Did he  
truly want to talk to the Head Angel as he had to Celcia? Celcia had been  
one of the few seitenshi who weren't stuffed shirts; he had been able to  
talk to her freely, and to get her often amusing opinions on his actions.  
"Riru-sama... could you wait a moment, please?"  
  
Riru stopped and turned, arching a brow at him. "Kurotenshi Zen, is there  
something I can do for you?" She was never impolite, never unfriendly...  
just restrained and older where Celcia had been buoyant and ever youthful.  
  
"Ah... no." He couldn't talk to her.  
  
***  
  
Studies, training, power; they all melded into an endless whirl of this and  
that, the interminable process of building up strength for missions to the  
ningenkai was boring. And yet, with very little else to do save  
occasionally tie up his fellow kurotenshi as a prank and try to Watch  
without being caught, Zen threw himself into his work wholeheartedly.  
  
He learned about demons, their evil nature and their way of infesting the  
human spirit. There seemed to be fewer demons these days, with the sudden  
loss of the Devil's power as a result of something that Zen could never  
find out. He learned about Eve, but never about who she had been in her  
following lifetimes; he was told that he had no need to know.  
  
It was a conversation between a teacher and student that brought this  
omission crashing down upon his mind.  
  
"... And that, Mika, is why the power that God bestowed upon Eve was not  
lost when Jeanne D'Arc was burned. It was transferred; the next Jeanne had  
a double burden of that power because of this transfer."  
  
"And Jeanne is still alive now, and Fin has been growing up? As well as  
Access? As humans?"  
  
"Precisely. Jeanne's power is now in Fin Fish; that was how she survived  
the attack."  
  
/Fin Fish... an angel. Jeanne... a thief./  
  
The names dropped into his mind, crystal-clear and sharp, cutting away  
pieces of foggy memory. Maron. Jeanne. Fin Fish. They were connected. Not  
knowing what to do about these strange feelings, Zen fled, taking refuge in  
the branches of an apple tree. The wind buoyed him up, but did not erase  
the aching pain that lingered in his chest. It was impossible to dredge  
more out of his memory save a feeling of worry, blackness and those three  
names that had started everything. No pictures of their faces. Nothing save  
the wind, and a sense of something precious slipping away from him as he  
sank into that darkness.  
  
***  
  
He would not worry. He'd decided that long ago. The flow of time didn't  
allow Zen to truly measure the days or weeks or months between the feelings  
resurfacing and his first mission to the ningenkai; he refused to allow  
himself to thing about those memories. They hurt.  
  
/You may go, Zen/  
  
"Thank you, Kami-sama."  
  
As he left, there was a flicker of amusement in the light he was leaving  
behind.  
  
***  
  
The air was more lively here, with scents and stenches that would have been  
filtered out in Heaven. Zen filled his lungs with the ningenkai's air...  
and promptly began to cough violently. Pollution to an angel would normally  
have been nothing, save that this coughing wasn't only because of that. It  
brought back the pain of something lost. Zen ruthlessly squelched the  
emotion.  
  
It was a quiet town, this one; a faint French air was in the winding  
streets and arched bridges, in the peach trees blossoming along a river  
that wound through a park. It was comforting, in a way, familiar to a  
person long since dead, and yet still living in some walled-in corner of  
his mind.  
  
This was not an urgent mission, he had been told, but he was still not  
supposed to linger in a world that wasn't entirely sure if it believed in  
beings such as he. The rules had been changed only a short while ago, he'd  
heard, as a result of a juntenshi's mistake of some sort. It was another  
one of those mysteries that seemed to always become silent whenever he was  
near, and he'd finally given up pursuing the elusive thread of a story that  
no-one wanted to recall.  
  
He paused, alighting in a tree that had grown old slowly, its branches  
reaching not only up towards the sky, but reaching sideways for the wind to  
trickle through its leaves, leaving the sunlight with an ever-dappled  
effect. His wings, newly white, were tired, and that odd nagging pain in  
his chest hadn't quite disappeared. "Maa. It'll go away. Probably just the  
air."  
  
"What's just the air?" This was an unexpected voice from below him; a small  
boy lazed there, sprawled sinuously along a far-flung branch. His hair was  
silvery-white, and, oddest of odd, he had a horn sprouting from his  
forehead.  
  
Zen ran a hand over his eyes in disbelief. "You can see me. This really  
isn't fair, you know. People aren't supposed to see me. And especially not  
people who look exactly like me." Even as he said it, he saw the truth in  
his unconscious observation: save for the horn and the obvious differences  
in their height, the boy and he were twins.  
  
"Don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone, 'cause no-one wants to talk to  
me anyway. Not even-" Zen could've sworn that the boy sniffled piteously,  
acting like a very small child who'd lost their parents (though how he  
could draw the comparison, he wasn't quite sure. At least the memory didn't  
hurt, like the others). "-Noin-sama wants to talk to me right now."  
  
"Oh." What else was there to say, truly? Sighing, Zen hopped down to a  
small branch at eye-level with the other boy. "I'm Zen."  
  
"Silk."  
  
"Oh. Why can you see me, anyway?"  
  
"Because I'm different from people. I'm..."  
  
"Silk!" The full-throated roar jolted the pair of them out of the tree; Zen  
momentarily forgot that his wings were not only there for status purposes  
and fell flat on his rear end, and Silk fared no better. "Owww..." they  
muttered in unison.  
  
The person who'd managed to startle their wits out of them was standing  
over the pair of them, the most peculiar expression upon his face. Zen  
stopped rubbing his backside for a moment to stare straight back at the  
human -- for that was what he seemed to be, with reddish-black hair tied  
back in a short ponytail and dark eyes. For some reason, he just didn't  
/feel/ quite right to Zen, with a darkness behind the human facade. He  
dismissed it as hypersensitivity as the man addressed his companion.  
  
"Silk. I've decided that you're forgiven. We should go now."  
  
"But... Noin-sama..." Silk was confused; he kept looking over at Zen, then  
back at Noin, his amber, cat slitted eyes perplexed.  
  
Did all humans have cat-slitted eyes? Zen looked more closely at the boy,  
frowning. As swift as thought, he backed away. "You're a demon. A weird  
sort, but you're a demon no matter what you say." Demons were invariably  
evil, he'd been taught. And none truly deserved more than a resting place  
behind a seal created by the few who could do so.  
  
If anything, the accusation made Silk's sudden smile grow brighter. "Yes!  
And so's-"  
  
"Silk, that's enough. I apologise, Zen," Noin said, clapping his hand over  
Silk's mouth and smiling warily.  
  
Another knock at the walls enclosing his old self brought Zen down to the  
ground once again, coughing violently, his head aching fiercely in protest  
of what was happening within it. Those walls were never meant to be  
breached.  
  
/Darkness engulfed him, while the rhythm of his heart became all the more  
erratic and pain tore at his chest, forcing him to cough, spasming against  
the invasion of something alien. All while something -- someone -- stood  
over him impassively. Oh, it /hurt/./  
  
The pain became too much. He allowed the darkness to overcome him, sweeping  
away the hurt and the memory.  
  
When he awoke, he lay as still as possible. The park's scent of windswept  
grass and earth had vanished, replaced by a cooler, sharper tang to the  
air. A voice both familiar and strange was raised in a torrent of words.  
  
"Silk, do you remember /anything/ of what we did? To even speak to him  
now... not only would we risk more angels realising who we are, but Jeanne  
would be angry and hurt. That little angel that you couldn't leave behind  
is the one who so nearly broke Jeanne's heart when we tried!"  
  
It hadn't even occurred to him how this man knew his name; it was in  
keeping with the world's conspiracy against him, to keep him from what he  
needed to know. Zen sat up, stealthily fluttering towards the voices.  
  
What greeted him was a scene out of that forgotten memory: a small dragon  
perched upon a shoulder clad in ebon fabric while that figure paced back  
and forth. It was a demon; every nerve in Zen was jangling a warning of  
that very fact. It was evil. It couldn't be allowed to continue.  
  
"And...." The demon -- Noin, he'd heard Silk say -- trailed off as he  
looked directly at where Zen was lurking, frowning. "Damn."  
  
Bitter, yet hopeful. Distrustful and wistful. The odd mixture of emotions  
which were hammering at the walls in his mind made him step out into view,  
fragments of the past and the clear picture of the present blending into  
some vague pattern that, as yet, eluded him. "You knew me. And you know how  
I died. And why I died. And you're a demon..."  
  
... there's so much I want to ask you, but I can't trust you to answer me  
properly.  
  
The dragon's gentle touch drew him out of his thoughts. He flew backwards,  
regarding the dragon with wary eyes until, in an odd elongation of limbs  
and refinement of features, Silk stood in front of him, his expression as  
wistfully clear as his master's was closed. "I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
The face of good and the face of evil are so alike. Zen could feel a laugh  
bubbling up in him, a half-hysterical release of tension. But he couldn't  
laugh, not in this place, this time. "You're a demon, too. How can I trust  
either of you? Just... let me go."  
  
Noin gestured at Silk, and Silk bowed his head. "Fine. But..." And here,  
his voice took on the same wistful quality as his expression. "I wish I  
could talk to you."  
  
The admission startled both Noin and Zen: they both stared blankly at Silk,  
gape-mouthed and thoroughly confused for the briefest of moments before  
Noin recovered and opened a window. "Go. Now." His voice was cold, a sharp  
splinter of the coldest, most dangerous things Zen had ever heard or read  
of.  
  
He left.  
  
***  
  
The quiet sunshine of the day did not suit the confusion that surrounded  
Zen. His mission, a simple check on the many temples and shrines of the  
area, had easily been completed. It was time for him to go home,  
technically. But he'd become too confused, with too many of those sharp,  
jagged fragments of the wall that contained his memories jumbled around in  
his mind.  
  
A kurotenshi was trained as rigorously as possible until they reached  
juntenshi, with all the lessons about life and creation and, most  
importantly, demons, being taught by seitenshi. The lessons about demons  
were the ones drilled into each student so that they would not stray...  
  
... and yet, Zen had not been harmed by the two demons that he'd  
encountered.  
  
All his life as an angel had lay in accepting without question the details  
of being an angel. Those details included a lack of trust in demons. Zen  
struggled with himself as the very foundations of what he'd been taught --  
Good and Evil -- warred with what he'd experienced.  
  
He was back in the tree once again, surrounded by the shifting sunlight and  
the light breezes that danced through the leaves. "I don't understand this  
at all..." he said aloud, fingering a strand of golden-brown hair. "Is good  
good, and is bad really evil?"  
  
There was a dull crunch above him, then a sharp snap and a shower of small  
sticks pelted downwards. A yelp, and a slightly heavier body landed almost  
gracefully upon the very branch that Silk had been sprawled upon earlier in  
the day.  
  
The new arrival draped himself casually upon the branch, then stared up at  
Zen with a mischievous grin. Purple eyes, black hair -- and he had focused  
directly upon Zen with no effort at all. "Black and white is never a good  
way to see things, you know. Grey is a much nicer color. But it's still not  
as nice as green," the boy noted, then crunched cheerfully into an apple.  
"Or purple, for that matter."  
  
Zen boggled. The boy laughed. "I'm special. I have a certain link to  
angels, you know. So don't be startled."  
  
"I thought that was /my/ line," Zen replied, a trife sourly. It just wasn't  
fair that he ran into everyone who could see him in one day, on his first  
mission.  
  
"It would normally be, but I already said that I've got a link to angels.  
I'm not sure if my mother would be able to see you, but I sure can." He  
arched a brow at Zen, purple eyes twinkling. "What does Riru call you,  
then?"  
  
Too stunned to really do much save stare at this odd human, Zen replied  
automatically. "Zen. Juntenshi Zen."  
  
"Shinji-" The newly-named Shinji nearly toppled out of the tree, saving  
himself by a swift grab of the branch above him. His eyes no longer  
twinkled, Zen noted. "Unless she's developed more of a sense of humor than  
she ever had..." Shinji's voice was a mixture of hope and confusion, with  
the faintest touch of wry amusement. He looked up sharply, focusing upon  
Zen. "How long can you stay down for?"  
  
Perplexed (as he'd been for most of the day), Zen replied, "I should really  
go back now... I was-" How to say that he'd been rebelling against going  
back to the day-to-day perfection that irritated something within him?  
"-staying for a little longer."  
  
Shinji cocked his head at Zen, a considering gleam in his eyes. He seemed  
to understand, in more than one way, the frustration of living a life that  
was so utterly perfect and yet still wanting something. Another crack  
formed in the wall around his memories: he'd known this understanding  
before. But the memory was still centered around a girl with wavy brown  
hair and a gentle smile.  
  
"Hey, Zen." Shinji's voice was worried, and the shadow of a large hand  
passed in front of Zen's eyes. "You lost me for a second."  
  
He gulped, fighting back inexplicable tears. "I think that I should stay  
down here... just a little longer," he said in a choked voice. "There's  
something I'm missing, and I need to know." For a wonder, the shards of  
memory weren't hurting. They were warm, comforting; the sharp edges still  
remained, but they didn't wound him deeply.  
  
"Aa. Will you come with me, then?" There was no hint of a tease in Shinji's  
voice now; merely a quiet, concealed happiness. "I think that there's  
someone you should meet."  
  
***  
  
Even though that sense of suppressed happiness still lingered around his  
guide, Zen was definitely perplexed. Shinji certainly didn't act his  
apparent age -- thirteen or so -- and he continually muttered, as they  
walked along, things such as, "Chiaki's going to kill me. Absolutely. But  
he /knows/ that this is something that Maron hoped for." and "Why do I  
always get stuck with this sort of responsibility? Dealing with everything.  
Bah."  
  
As they passed a small grocery store, a gust of wind caught Shinji,  
spinning him off-center and causing Zen to lose his seat upon the boy's  
shoulder. Sprawled upon the ground, they both glared up at the innocent  
skies, raised their fists, and called, "That's /not/ funny!"  
  
Of course, this earned them quite a few stares and blank looks.  
  
Zen turned around, drawn by some inexplicable sensation -- did humans call  
it 'deja vu'? -- to stare at the store they'd fallen in front of. The  
shards of memory pressed at him, forcing him to try and remember the past  
-- and this store. /My home... there was an apartment above the store.../  
  
Even as the thought came, it disappeared behind the wall, leaving only a  
bitter taste of something precious lost in his mouth. He turned away.  
  
Shinji was watching him calmly from where he was still sprawled upon the  
ground, an expression that, while not truly calculating, was measuring his  
reaction to their location. He held out his hand for Zen, and stood.  
"Someone sent you down here for more than just a trip around the local  
shrines," he said cryptically.  
  
As they walked, the buildings became sparser, the occasional house dotting  
the streets instead of city buildings. There were no memories to revive  
here, no choking cough to render him unable to speak; Zen relaxed upon  
Shinji's shoulder.  
  
A pixiesh figure bounced up to them, her green eyes focused upon Shinji  
with a faintly amused gleam that matched her smile. "Your mother's looking  
for you, Shinji. Did you do something /again/?" she asked. She was tiny by  
human standards, with green hair down to her shoulders and a fragile air  
about her. That fragile air was quickly dispelled as she arched a brow at  
Shinji. "And why do you have a little toy on your shoulder?"  
  
"I could tell you, Natsuki-chan, but you're not old enough to know."  
  
And the fragility vanished entirely as Natsuki stomped on Shinji's foot.  
"That's not /fair/!" she cried, then smiled. It was odd, this manner of  
going from anger to understanding in a single moment. "But I think I know  
anyway. Mama's inside. Papa's in his study, and he can probably save you  
from Miyako-baasan." With that, she turned away, heading back towards one  
of the houses. She paused in mid step, looking back over her shoulder --  
and Zen could've sworn she looked straight at him and smiled. "I think I  
would like to have a little brother."  
  
Shinji choked for no apparent reason, then shook his head and walked  
through the door that Natsuki had come out of. "She knows more than she  
thinks she does... and probably more than she wants to know," he murmured  
quietly, mystifying Zen all the more. "But..."  
  
"Shinji, is that you?" The voice was familiar, in some distant way. "Ah."  
Someone poked their head around a door in the hallway; a man with light  
blue hair and blue eyes. "Miyako was looking for you, and I didn't tell her  
where you'd gone -- she looked like she was chasing after Jeanne again.  
Which didn't sound too good for you."  
  
The mild conversation went on while Zen sat in shock. The crack in the wall  
around his memories had grown more, and more bits and pieces were fitting  
together into one smooth painting, rather than sharp shards. Jeanne. Maron.  
And this man -- though, in some strange way, he wasn't the same.  
  
The sudden silence brought him out of his fugue. The man -- Chiaki? his  
mind offered -- was staring at him, something like pain and happiness  
mingled into one bittersweet emotion in his expression. "You..." Chiaki --  
it was definitely Chiaki -- whispered.  
  
The soft swish of slippers on the floor presaged the arrival of another  
person:  
  
Maron.  
  
And the wall within his mind shattered, while the winds howled around the  
house.  
  
"Maron. It's a good name," Zen murmured, leaving Shinji's shoulder and  
watching Maron's expression. She looked so fragile, as though a single word  
of his could break her heart; her eyes were wide, even wider than the night  
he had died, and the beginnings of tears caused them to shimmer. He hated  
those tears.  
  
She held out her hand, and the sunlight from a window nearby caught her  
expression and changed it to a brilliant smile. He flew across the space  
between them. "Zen... I've missed you so much," she said, smiling at him.  
"Come. We have a lot to talk about."  
  
***  
  
Somehow, he'd expected to see the same Maron that he had known so briefly  
before: youthful, with a perpetual air of muffled happiness and concern for  
others. This Maron had lost the sadness that had always lingered in her  
eyes; she'd found the happiness that he had somehow known she was searching  
for.  
  
Zen hovered in front of Maron, listening to her tale -- some of it was  
vaguely familiar to him, from the lessons of a young kurotenshi -- in  
silence. Chiaki had come to sit beside her, and she occasionally leaned  
against his shoulder, especially when recounting the tale of Fin's betrayal  
and redemption, then of her death.  
  
This brought a lump to Zen's throat; he remembered Fin Fish as a small  
juntenshi, cheerful and seemingly dedicated to God. She had brought him  
hope when he'd been dying, speaking of the god-wind, the breath of God. And  
she'd been through Hell, not only in the literal sense, and had come back.  
  
"Does Natsuki know? About Fin, I mean. She saw me, when Shinji brought me  
here."  
  
"We don't know. She seems to know more than she should, but she doesn't  
talk about anything like that very much," Chiaki explained, leaning  
forward. Once again, Zen felt a lump in his throat -- but not the result of  
sadness. He was so much smaller than he'd once been; at one point, he'd  
only been a little shorter than the man in front of him. And...  
  
... he was a little jealous, too. He'd loved Maron, but hadn't had time to  
resolve exactly what sort of love it had been, save that it had existed.  
  
Maron laid her hand upon Chiaki's shoulder, smiling gently. "I think it's  
time for Shinji to explain his part in this, though, Chiaki."  
  
Shinji, who'd remained silent through the explanation, uncurled from his  
armchair. "I guess I owe you an apology, Zen. I was the one who told Chiaki  
that he /had/ to checkmate your demon." He paused briefly, biting his lower  
lip and looking far older than his age. "I am... or I /was/, Access Time."  
  
"You forgot your usual speech," Chiaki said dryly, his expression faintly  
amused as he watched Shinji. "The one where you call yourself great and  
wonderful."  
  
Zen was simply confused. His memories conflicted with what he'd been told:  
they were still keeping something from him, for some reason. "But the demon  
that had me wasn't a normal demon. I know that. There was something weird  
about it. And there was always this man in black, for some reason. And  
Silk, too. The demon was Noin."  
  
"You know him now?" Chiaki's voice was hard, his blue eyes filling with  
anger. "The bastard. He tried to take /my/ Maron away. Tried to /rape/  
her."  
  
An instinctive flush of fury made Zen's ears buzz; he could feel his hands  
clenching into fists. With a conscious effort -- the training had had some  
effect, after all -- he forced it down, shutting it away in its place. "I  
met Silk. He... my memory didn't work right at that point. Something  
happened. I woke up with Noin and Silk talking about what they'd done-"  
That conversation made sense now. "-and then I left."  
  
"And now I remember everything. I'm so sorry, Maron!" The fury had  
completely vanished, leaving an aching grief behind. "I didn't mean to hurt  
you. And you, Chiaki..."  
  
"Don't worry about it. She hit me with a water jug, and that brought me to  
my senses."  
  
"Mou! You weren't listening to me then, and I was so /angry/!"  
  
Zen watched them together, then shook his head, his smile returning.  
"They're always like this, I guess?" he asked Shinji, who was rolling his  
eyes, every bit the young boy at that moment. Funny, the kinship he felt  
with this boy.  
  
"I had to whack Chiaki with a tessen to keep his hands off of Maron before  
the final battle," Shinji admitted, laughing. "I told him that he couldn't  
touch saints. But he wound up doing that anyway, and he even yelled at God  
once for putting Maron in danger."  
  
"Really..." Zen paused, tilting his head at Shinji. "You know, Celcia told  
me that I reminded her of you once. I kicked one of the trees, and it  
dropped an apple on me. Riru-sama got angry with me, and I kept on having  
to pray even more to get the power I lost back."  
  
Maron, having stopped berating Chiaki for the moment, drew both of their  
gazes with a single question: "What are you going to do with the power that  
you gain?"  
  
The thought had never truly crossed his mind. He lived in the moment; the  
future was the next moment, to be considered when it arrived. He'd been  
gaining power for one real purpose: to find out about those broken shards  
of memory. That had been resolved... and he had more power than he'd  
started with.  
  
He fingered a strand of silvery hair, frowning at it. It was paler than  
when he'd first come down to the ningenkai, and slightly longer. Looking  
back up at Maron and Chiaki, he sighed. "I don't know." he said.  
  
Shinji's expression was gleeful as he leaned towards Zen, poking him with  
one finger. "Natsuki said she'd like a brother. And if you've got that much  
power now, it shouldn't be long before you become a seitenshi. And when you  
do, you'll be strong enough to return to here as a human with your  
memories."  
  
Maron, Chiaki and Zen boggled at Shinji. Chiaki was the first to recover, a  
sly grin appearing as though by magic. "I could definitely help with that,  
Maron."  
  
She poked him, but her eyes were filling with hopeful tears. "Zen... would  
you?"  
  
"I will." And those words set the events in motion for the final element of  
happiness: family.  
***  
  
His power had finally brought him to the point he needed: he was as tall as  
Riru now, his hair silver rather than the golden-brown it had once been,  
and it was longer than it had ever been, in life or as an angel. No longer  
Juntenshi Zen, angel-in-training; he'd grown in strength faster than anyone  
had ever expected, as though he'd been given a mission that would give him  
the greatest of rewards if he fulfilled it.  
  
Only two beings knew of that mission, save those he'd left in the  
ningenkai: Riru and God himself. Both were with him now, asking him the  
final question before he returned to the world of humanity.  
  
/Do you truly wish to become a human again, to live with flesh and blood  
and the life that mortals are granted?/  
  
"It is for Maron. It is for myself. I choose to go, and I have enough power  
to do so."  
  
/Go, then. And carry one message for me: I always watch Eve, in spite of  
Adam's protests./  
  
That couldn't've been humor, Zen thought. That would just be too out of  
character.  
  
And then the light of his power engulfed him, and he returned to the  
beginning once again.  
  
***  
  
It was a cold night when Maron felt the first twinge of pain in her lower  
back. She rose from bed, leaving Chiaki with a fond smile -- he'd been  
working so hard these past few weeks, with the Christmas season giving more  
people an excuse to drink and the unusual snow making accidents more  
common. He deserved his sleep, and she had several hours before the  
contractions would be close enough to warrant going to the hospital. So she  
dressed in silence, no longer feeling awkward and unwieldy -- her time was  
near.  
  
She slipped out of the bedroom, her hands on her back, trying to ease the  
exhausted muscles that bore the weight of the child she carried. "Only a  
little longer," she murmured, rubbing her protruding belly soothingly as  
the contraction eased.  
  
A soft sound from the door beside her startled her briefly. A faint, small  
glow of light appeared around the crack: Natsuki, now eight, peered out,  
her eyes wide with excitement. "Mama, it's time, isn't it? I'm going to  
have my little brother soon, aren't I?"  
  
Maron smiled dreamily, ruffling her daughter's pale green hair. "You are.  
He's going to be such a wonderful boy, too." She'd never questioned Natsuki  
about how she knew that the child her mother carried was a boy; it was  
simple proof of who she had been.  
  
She loved this feeling, the constant love showered upon her by her family:  
love wasn't a currency, to be spent and lost, as she'd once thought. It was  
an ever-growing thing that, when shared, brought the happiness she'd sought  
for so long.  
  
With Natsuki holding onto her hand, Maron paced the hallway, the motion and  
the company easing the slowly-building contractions.  
  
"Mama, it's a really pretty night. There's even a nice wind. Should we go  
outside?" Natsuki's suggestion was pitched in a quiet tone, and there was a  
faint hint of solemn knowledge -- they both shared a love for the wind,  
from its violent gales to its gentle caress during calm moments -- in her  
eyes. "Papa can sleep a little longer."  
  
"I think it would be a wonderful idea, Natsuki-chan. The wind would be a  
comfort, I think." Especially if her suspicions were true. They donned  
their coats and with her hand still clasped in her daughter's, Maron  
stepped out into the night, the small yard lit by the moon. The snow upon  
the ground refracted the light into a million diamonds, and the wind was  
indeed gentle and bracing, rather than biting. They breathed in unison, and  
two small clouds of air shivered upon the air, then vanished.  
  
Natsuki slipped her hand out of Maron's as soon as the newest contraction  
ended, twirling with every tiny breath of wind, leaving swirling footprints  
in the virgin snow. Maron watched her daughter, one hand upon her belly.  
The winter night was quiet, save for the noise of the wind in the trees and  
Natsuki's delighted laughter.  
  
Some time later, another contraction gripped Maron, provoking a short gasp.  
"Natsuki-chan, let's go wake Papa, hmm?" she said, a gentle request for  
attention. Natsuki obediently returned, slipping her hand into her mother's  
as they walked slowly back into the house.  
  
Focusing through the pain of the spasming muscles, Maron walked towards  
their bedroom, flicking the light on. Chiaki wasn't asleep; his eyes were  
open and focused upon the door as though he'd been expecting them. "I  
wondered," he said softly, standing up and reaching for his shirt, "when  
you would finally admit that it was time for us to go."  
  
"It's time, love. After so long." She was excited, feeling euphoric as the  
pain of the latest contraction slowed, then stopped. It was rather  
symbolic, she'd thought when she'd had Natsuki, that she suffered the pain  
of childbirth: Eve had done so, but Jeanne had not.  
  
Chiaki kissed her head, the bag they'd packed in his hand. "Let's go." He,  
too, was delighted; his eyes were bright with love and affection. "Or I'll  
have to carry you from the car, just like last time."  
  
"Hmph. You insisted, if I remember correctly." Leaning her head briefly  
against his warm chest, she drew comfort from the lighthearted teasing and  
from his mere presence. Funny, how after - how many years was it? Twelve  
years? -- of marriage, she still loved every part of him, from his spicy  
scent to the way his kisses could make her lose all memory of the outside  
world.  
  
She drew herself out of her thoughts, looking up at Chiaki with widened  
eyes. "We should really go. Are you going to call Kaiki this time? He'll  
never forgive you for not telling him when Natsuki was born."  
  
"Let's just get you to the hospital before we worry about that, love."  
  
*  
  
Natsuki had insisted upon coming to see the arrival of her new brother.  
Though Papa had originally been firm, she'd cried and he had crumbled  
instantly. She didn't like to do that to Papa, but this was her little  
/brother/. Mama had missed him for so long, and now she'd found him again,  
and she, Natsuki, wasn't going to miss out on meeting him.  
  
There had been one of those odd flashes of someone else in her mind when  
Mama had told her about her brother. The presence was familiar, and Natsuki  
had come to accept it as someone who didn't mean any harm, and who often  
gave her advice or told her when important things - like Mama and her  
little brother - were starting. This time, she (the person was definitely a  
girl) had been happy, almost bubbling over with joy.  
  
And so, she sat silently outside the door to where her Mama was having her  
brother - that older person inside her had told her long ago that it was  
called 'childbirth' - and waited. The nurses on the staff had come by more  
than once, offering her snacks or tea and calling her 'a cute child' and  
asking her name. When she'd told them, they all petted her even more,  
cooing that her grandfather was such a nice man, and why didn't he marry  
again, since his son was so clearly not available.  
  
Natsuki really didn't understand grownups very well.  
  
A hand landed upon her head, ruffling her hair and leaving it in complete  
disarray. "And there's my Natsuki-chan. I'd wondered if you had come." The  
voice was familiar, so very like Papa's that it could only be one person.  
Grey eyes, dark hair, and a familiar smile came into view as the new  
arrival knelt to peer into her face.  
  
"Grandpa! So Papa did tell you… he thought he might not, 'cause you would  
make a fuss," she said, her green eyes solemn as she latched onto her  
grandfather's neck for a tight hug. She adored her grandfather; he always  
smiled for her and gave her lots of hugs, even when he was busy with his  
work. She lowered her voice, peering over his shoulder at the nurses'  
station. "Did you know, Grandpa, that all those nurses like you a lot? But  
never mind. Is Mama okay? How long until my brother gets here?"  
  
Grandpa hugged her tightly, lifting her up off the ground and setting her  
upon his hip. "Just a little longer, Natsuki-chan. Let's go get some tea,  
hmm? And visit those pretty nurses."  
  
Natsuki shook her head vehemently, squirming to reach the floor. "If it's  
soon, I don't want to miss it."  
  
In that moment, a baby cried from the inside of the room, its voice muffled  
by the door so much that only one who was attuned to it - or listening  
very, very carefully - would notice.  
  
*  
  
Flushed and exhausted, Maron could only smile as Chiaki washed their new  
son carefully, wrapping him in a blanket before handing him back to her.  
  
Tiny wisps of golden-brown hair were visible upon his head, and Maron knew  
that his eyes, though newborn-blue now, would change to a mid-brown color.  
"Zen. He's come back to us."  
  
"Mama, can I see him now?" Natsuki had somehow gotten inside and slipped  
noiselessly up to Maron's side, craning to see the baby. "Are you going to  
name him Zen?"  
  
For a moment, the light seemed to halo Natsuki, giving her pointed ears and  
cat-slit eyes that held an amused knowledge. Maron smiled at her daughter  
and leaned slightly so that she could see the baby. "Yes. This is Zen,  
Natsuki-chan. Your new brother."  
  
*** Fin ***  
  
(don't maim the poor author for the pun, please *niko*)  
  
In rereading the last chapter of the manga, I noticed the kanji for  
Shinji's name are 'Heart' and 'Time'. I find that really cute: 'Heart of  
Time'. I guess it was as similar a name to 'Access Time' as Miyako could  
devise. 3 Natsuki... well, Maron knew Fin's mortal name, so it made sense  
to simply be the same as before: "Fish" and "Moon". Of course, Zen's name  
was known - he even retained it as his angel name, as Riru thought that it  
was a good name (thereby recalling Zen's words about Maron's name... irony  
of ironies. ^_^;; )  
  
As for this fic... it took the form of an evil bunny several months ago; I  
wrote the first couple scenes to satisfy it for the time, and then looked  
at it again and thought that it might actually work. It was never intended  
to be more than oh, say, twenty K and was supposed to involve Zen talking  
with Silk, not Shinji, about evil and good and why things happened the way  
they did -- and involve Zen recovering his memories because of Noin. But  
that didn't happen. ^_^ This fic is set in the same universe as 'Arcadia',  
but not the same as 'Reflection'.  
  
For Tin, who nagged and whined and told me that my writing was good, and  
who gave me the hope that someday (far off) I'd be as good a writer as she  
is. And now she owes me that TSK fic. *evil niko*  



	2. ain't all it's cracked up to be

"Roricon! Idiot! You're supposed to be at /class/, not sitting here trying to be subtle about waiting for me to go to school!" The sound of a heavy object -- most likely one of his father's medical books -- hitting a wall soon followed, and Shinji bolted out of the study, rubbing his head.

Zen, at eight, had every single one of the prejudices against attempted romance that any boy his age had, as well as first-hand knowledge about both of the personalities involved in this particular relationship. Polishing off the last of Shinji's hotcakes (he had abandoned them to go see Natsuki, of course, so they were free game in Zen's considered opinion), he stared at his pseudo-brother and rolled his eyes. "You know, maybe Mom should stop telling the story about how you proposed to her the second time you met her. I think it's making her insane," he said, then hopped off of his chair and went off to change into his uniform, leaving a rather abandoned-looking Shinji behind.

He waited for a moment, pausing at the door of his room, expecting the outburst any second...

"My /hotcakes/!" came the forlorn wail from the kitchen Zen'd just left.

It was just another of the standard pranks that he pulled whenever possible -- it kept Shinji on his toes, and provided a bit of amusement for an eight-year-old who was really going on... far too many years for a normal child. Zen pulled his uniform out of the closet, dressing as quickly as possible.

The knock at his door was expected, almost welcomed. "I'm coming, Natsuki. Just a second," he called, pulling on his hat with a grimace at his reflection. He'd a couple years to go until he got back to his normal height, but the golden-brown hair and brown eyes were the same as they'd been before.

He couldn't help but compare himself as he was now to how he had been before, though he knew full well that they were, at spirit and in soul, the same person. Shinji had never seemed to have this problem -- he was twenty now, and he'd always been exactly the same as the boy a young juntenshi had met on his first mission to the ningenkai.

"I /not/ going to act like I was. I'm /eight/. Not fifteen. Or however old I'd be now," he told his reflection, jamming the hat further down over his eyes. "I'm /not/."

Natsuki was just slipping on her shoes as he stepped into the main hallway; Shinji leaned casually against the door, watching her. "I'm ready," Zen announced, drawing both of their gazes to him. Shinji's was almost murderous, and Natsuki's was delighted and a wee bit impatient.

He stepped into his shoes, ignoring them for a moment before grabbing his backpack and reaching for Natsuki's hand. This was one comfort he adored: physical contact. It was so human, so real and so very childish that he never failed to remember it every morning.

They lived close to school, but it was still a fair distance; Natsuki nearly ran, hauling Zen (who, it must be said, wasn't quite up to running flat-out) halfway there before he stumbled and fell, scraping his knee and one elbow.

"I'm so sorry, Zen! I didn't mean to hurry, but Masako and Rei say that they have something to show me, so..." Natsuki said, letting her voice trail off as she gently picked up her younger brother.

Zen winced, but didn't cry at the sting of the scrapes. He'd gotten enough of them, even this early in his life, to have become accustomed to the pain, more or less. But it still hurt. Every single time he fell, it hurt. "'M okay, Natsuki. It hurts only a little."

Natsuki looked thoughtful, one slim finger tapping her chin. "You're still my little brother. Let's go. We can have the nurse at my school take a look at your scrapes, and I'll explain to your teacher that it's my fault if you're late," she said decisively, turning down a different street than their normal route.

The twisting roads took them places that Zen had avoided thus far; the hospital he'd stayed in so long ago, the park he and his... well, she was his mother now, so it would suffice. Natsuki had bound his knee with her hankerchief, so he focused on that instead of the road.

When Natsuki stopped abruptly, he looked up.

God had a /very/ bad sense of humor. Or Fate did. Either way, Takazuchiya Kimiko was sweeping the pathway up to the small grocery store, humming a familiar lullabye she'd used so often to sing him to sleep in his former childhood. Worst of all, she'd seen Natsuki and had set her broom aside, smiling at her stunned expression. "May I help you with something?" she asked, making her way over to the frozen teen and child.

Natsuki's whisper reached Zen's ears: "I'm so sorry..." Aloud, she said, "No, we're just on our way to school."

"You're almost late, you know. Especially your little brother -- he's got a way to go, if he goes to the school I think he does," Kimiko replied, trying to get a peek at Zen. He'd reacted instinctively, hiding behind his sister to save his former mother pain. She'd aged, from what he had seen; her hair had wings of grey in it, and her face, though still beautiful, had matured. "Now, there's no need to be frightened of me."

Oh so reluctantly, Zen stepped out from behind Natsuki, pulling his hat down over his eyes. "I'm not frightened," he said. This was bad. The promise he'd made to himself and the promise his parents had made still held in his heart: he wouldn't see them until he was completely healthy. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but the scratch...

"Oh dear. Did you trip?" The motherly concern nearly undid Zen's blank facade -- it succeeded entirely in making him look up, revealing his face to the sunlight. The quiet gasp told him all he needed to know. Natsuki had gone entirely still next to him. Kimiko -- his former mother -- examined his face, turning it this way and that with a gentle hand upon his chin. "You look so like my son," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

He desperately wanted to say, 'I know' and hug her and wipe away those tears.

"You're so young, but you look exactly like Zen. What is your name?"

/I am Zen. I always have been.../ He sighed, unhappy with the outcome of this morning; not only was he in pain, he was causing pain for someone he loved dearly. But what could he do but reply? "Nagoya Zen."

His mother froze for a moment, then smiled wistfully. "I wish you were truly my Zen. But-" She stood, reaching into a pocket of her apron and withdrawing a bandage. "-you can't be, and I apologise for making you worry about an old woman like me. Here. Let me fix those scrapes."

It was here that Natsuki spoke up as though prompted from within. "I think you met our mother at one point, several years ago. A girl who knocked down a lot of tins, with brown hair and brown eyes. She... she knew your son. I think she'd like to see you again."

Kimiko's hand froze over Zen's scraped knee, her expression vaguely shocked... and the tiniest bit hopeful. "I think I do remember her... it's been so many years, though. But she seemed to be the sort that is difficult to forget," she said slowly, thoughtfully. "She was one of Zen's friends." Her hands, as gentle as they had ever been in his former life, drew out the small flecks of gravel that had embedded themselves in Zen's knee, then wrapped the bandage around his knee. She gave it one last soft pat, then smiled at him. "I doubt you would want me to kiss it better, so I shan't."

The shock of the moment had definitely driven Zen into immobility -- though he desperately wanted to jump behind a cart and hide there and try to cover his face with his hat, he couldn't. He could only stand there with his mouth open and mentally scream at his older sister for ever suggesting that his mothers (such an odd thought!) meet.

"I know that Mama would like to meet you again..." Natsuki repeated, reaching for Zen's hand. The warm touch brought him out of his paralysis, but he said nothing; to say what he thought would hurt his mother more than his arrival had. "Zen would, too."

Oh, by God, he hated it when Natsuki turned all cryptic.

His mother smiled then, though there were traces of pain in it. "I would be delighted to meet one of Zen's friends once again." She turned her smile upon him, still kneeling in front of him. "And you, Zenda-chi."

Zen turned red and pulled his hat down over his ears as Natsuki giggled merrily, all trace of her serious self gone. The nickname. He almost suspected his mother /knew/, the way she was acting.

God, he /hated/ this situation. It added to the guilt.

***

Maron's hands were working on the dress, but her mind was elsewhere. It had been eight years since Zen had arrived back in their world, and she still hadn't become accustomed to the feeling of theft. It was worse than she had ever felt while sealing demons -- she had at least left another painting behind, and had done a necessary thing for the world -- and she truly didn't know how to understand it.

She and Chiaki had taken Zen from his previous lives. He had been sick in the first, true, but he had been alive and with the family who he belonged to, who had created him. His mother had loved him, she knew. And all of that had been taken away by a single word: checkmate.

Chiaki had long since been forgiven for what he had to do, but Maron had always had such trouble forgiving herself for past mistakes. It had taken a thorough verbal beating by Miyako for her to forgive herself for Fin's death, and there was no way to explain this to anyone, truly.

She had stolen Zen, not once, but /twice/. And that made her uncomfortable and not a little bit guilty.

"You're feeling guilty about what Natsuki told you, aren't you?" Warm arms enfolded her from behind and warm breath tickled her ear. "About Zen's mother, right?"

Maron turned slightly, halfheartedly trying to escape Chiaki's arms before finally settling into the comfort he provided. "A little," she admitted. "I always wanted him with me, even though I thought it wasn't possible." There was no way to express this in words. Chiaki simply knew. And that was why they loved each other; not fate, that tired old word, and not because of simple physical things, but the knowledge of each other, both physical /and/ mental, that they held.

He kissed her neck, sending a thrill of feeling through Maron. She turned in his arms, catching his eyes. The smoky look in them made her nebulous fears flee as though chased by a gale. The dress was forgotten, the delicate silk left crumpled upon the floor as the two took comfort from each other.

***

"What is Mom supposed to tell my mother?" The sheer incongruity of his words struck him as entirely appropriate as he paced back and forth, crushing his hat in his hands. "That I really /am/ Takazuchiya Zen, just come back to life?" he demanded, halting and staring up at Shinji with all the outrage an eight-going-on-eighteen year-old could muster.

Shinji sighed and knelt, placing his hands upon Zen's shoulders. "Maron will do what is right, what has to be done." In a more philosophical tone, he continued, "And I doubt that anyone who had paintings 'stolen' would want to press charges, even if they could. So the secret is not so important to keep any longer. It's a matter of whether your former mother will believe the tale. God hates for us to be unhappy, and so sometimes things just... happen."

"But! What happens to Mom if Mother wants me to stay with /her/ instead of with Mom?" Zen paused, blinking slightly at the sound of his own words. It simply wasn't fair, was it? "Ha." It wasn't a child's giggle, and he could see Shinji twitch slightly in reaction. Perversely, he thought it was just perfect that he could make Access Time twitch when so little else could, so he did it again. "Ha. I just want to be a /child/."

"You /are/ a child." The very dryness of the comment gave Shinji a clue as to who spoke. As he turned, his suspicions were verified: Minazuki Miyako, detective and special friend, stood there, hands on her hips.

She had aged more than Maron had, though she was still remarkably pretty. There were laugh lines at the corners of her eyes from years of marriage, silver hair mixing in with the black that she swore was the result of Shinji, and a stubborn crease between her eyebrows. And she was still as fiery as she had ever been. "You think you're so pitiable, stuck in a child's body with an adult's mind," she said, stepping into the room -- Shinji stepped aside hastily -- and shaking her finger at him. As he opened his mouth to protest, she silenced him with a firm shake of her head. "You claim to remember your past life as Takazuchiya Zen. Do you remember your childhood? I doubt it."

"But-!"

"Don't you dare try to contradict me." She kneeled suddenly, placing her hands upon his shoulders and staring into his eyes. Offhandedly, he wondered if Shinji knew he'd picked the same thing up from her. "Children never believe they are children. They're always changing, and so is the world around them. And so children aren't what they seem to be. And you've forgotten that you /are/ a child, in spite of the fact that you know more than those who don't remember a lifetime before." Miyako smiled and hugged him to her, and he couldn't resist, such was his shock. "So be a child and let the world grow up with you."

Applause from the background broke the moment of thought: Yamato and Shinji were standing in the door, an amused smile upon the former's face, a purely impish one on Shinji's. "I never knew that you were such a wisewoman, Mom," Shinji quipped, then fled. And was pursued by Miyako just as quickly.

"Aah, I live in such an insane family..." Yamato said, taking off his glasses and polishing them with a handkerchief as the sounds of shrieks and yelps rang down the hallway. He offered Zen a warm smile, then poked his head through the doorway into the hall, withdrawing with arched eyebrows. "Well. I have to say, I'd thought that application of frying pans was only possible in those American cartoons."

Zen fled as quickly as possible.

***

This has been sitting on my hard drive for over a year now, actually, and I kept on intending to expand upon it. Well, I never did, save for a partially-written scene after this one. So... enjoy this. ^^


End file.
